A Lot Like Loving You
by Murf
Summary: What happens on shore leave unfortunately does not stay on shore leave. K/S, S/U, Mc/OC eventual, anyway
1. Don't Trust a Ho

Title: A Lot Like Loving You

Fandom: ST2009

Genre: Romance/Angst

Pairings: K/S, S/U, Mc/OC (eventual, anyway)

Summary: What happens on shore leave unfortunately does not stay on shore leave.

Chapter One: Don't Trust a Ho.

Author's Note: This chapter is a songfic; the rest of the fic isn't. Lyrics are italicized.

"_Black dress_

_With the tights underneath…"_

Jim Kirk on shore leave is one hell of a sight. Dressed all in tight and black, an expanse of fair skin showing that uniform clothes cover, and the charm turned up to warp eleven, he swaggers into the bar.

Somebody gasps, recognizing him on sight, and a predatory smile graces his lips.

"_She's an actress_

_But she ain't got no need_

_She's got money from her parents in a trust fund back east."_

Spock on shore leave could be captivating, if he wanted to be. He's got the chiseled jaw and the long, lean form that so many species find attractive, and repressed passion is often considered a "turn-on." However, unlike his captain, he doesn't like being the center of attention.

He's not even sure why he came to this bar. Nyota's request had been a teasing joke, a bright smile as she shook her head, believing he wouldn't go on leave, simply because he never goes on leave. But he'd agreed, to their mutual surprise, and now he sits at the end of the bar, Nyota across the dance floor, deep in conversation with an old friend from the Academy.

When Jim Kirk walks in, Spock's eyebrow becomes acquainted with the ceiling.

"_T-t-t-tongues_

_Always pressed to your cheeks_

_While my tongue is on the inside of some other girl's teeth."_

It doesn't take long for that pretty redhead to be draped across Kirk's body, tongue and lips sometimes connecting with his, but more often skating over the exposed skin of his throat and chest.

Spock has been watching this whole time, finding the whole scenario completely inappropriate, but he still can't tear his eyes away as the captain lets his head fall back and the girl moves against him like an Orion girl in a strip club. She's beautiful, and, well, to be entirely objective, so is Captain Kirk. Sweat drenches his skin, and his blue eyes are clouded by lust; Spock wonders if that is part of the seductive appeal of the young captain, this ability to lose himself in the seduction itself.

As he watches the pair slide into a corner booth, Spock swears he sees Kirk look right back at him.

"_Tell your boyfriend_

_If he says he's got beef_

_That I'm a vegetarian and I ain't fuckin' scared of him."_

"Hey, Captain," she murmurs, slipping her led deftly between his, "That Vulcan's been staring at you this whole time."

"Hmm?" Jim says. "Spock's here?" He is, of course, feigning ignorance; he knows quite well that his first officer is across the room and watching his every move.

It doesn't bother him. He likes the thought of Spock seeing this side of him, even from a distance, because he likes Spock likes the thought of Spock maybe being in this girl's position. He's liked the thought of that for a long time now; at least, three months is a long time for James T. Kirk's libido to hang on to somebody, anyway.

"Think he likes me?" he asks the girl, whose name he doesn't care to know.

She presses her thigh up between his legs, rubbing forcefully enough to make him moan before she says, "If he does, he'll have to fight me for tonight."

"_X's_

_On the backs of your hands;"_

Spock doesn't notice when his hands curl into fists, fingernails biting into flesh and sensitive nerve fibers that would normally tell him he was clenching far too hard. He's too. He's too busy watching the madness in that corner booth escalate to the point where she's actually groping him and he makes the occasional spasm, bucking against her hands.

He really should not be watching, much less fantasizing about storming over there and chastising Kirk for his unseemly behavior; not only is the blonde a captain, he is a well-known Federation hero, and therefore easily recognizable.

It is inappropriate behavior, and that is why, or so Spock tells himself, that he is still watching.

"_Wash them in the bathroom to drink like the band_."

Nyota Uhura can see her boyfriend staring at the captain and his red-haired fling, and it occurs to her that she might be in for some hell. For all his faults, Jim Kirk is up there in the stratosphere of desirable men. He's attractive, intelligent, and has the rebel image from his Academy days going for him.

She knows Kirk has a thing for Spock; she thinks everybody on the ship except for the Vulcan in question has figured it out by now. Jim's not exactly subtle when it comes to things like this. He smiles too much, talks a little too subtly, and invades Spock's personal space as often as possible.

Nyota knows it's only a matter of time, but she decides to trust Spock.

"_And the set list_

_You stole off the stage_

_Has red and purple lipstick all over the page."_

When she notices Jim is staring at Spock, the redhead stops what she's doing abruptly and shoves him. She wants his attention, and he's not giving it.

When he doesn't react, she lets out a little growl of frustration and gives up, standing up and leaving him where he lies. He sits up a little and meets Spock's eyes again, knowing that he must look either delectable or detestable, and putting his money on the former. He's wide open now; now it's Spock move (just like in one of their chess games).

Spock closes his eyes and takes a long breath. Jim thinks it could be a good sign.

"_B-b-b-bruises_

_Cover your arms_

_Shaking in your fingers with the bottle in your palm."_

Spock doesn't move. After he opens his eyes again, he just keeps staring at his disheveled, sexually aroused captain across the nightclub, torn between the two presented choices: he could go join the captain in the corner booth, which would most likely lead to sex and a world of regrets, or he could do nothing, and only disappoint his own sex drive.

Logic would dictate the latter choice, but being in the presence of James T. Kirk tended to overthrow his logical mind in favor of emotion and more base instincts, and so he stands.

However, he didn't immediately cross the room. There was a human concept of getting a potential human partner to "work for it," wherein one showed off what one was capable of, but did not make an overt flirtation or "move."

Kirk had been playing this game by propositioning that woman and then tossing her aside, but Spock is also quite capable, and the captain needs to know that.

So, feeling more alive (in an animal, carnal sense) than he has in ages, Spock enters the throng of sweaty young beings and begins to dance.

Meanwhile, Kirk orders a drink and sits back to enjoy the show.

"_And the best is_

_No one knows who you are…"_

He hasn't danced since the mandatory lessons he'd taken as a child on Vulcan, and he's never danced like this.

He sways and slides against the others on the dance floor, something ingrained deep into both halves of his pedigree showing him what to do. Pelvis rolling, he allows a young, violet-eyed, ashen-haired young male wrap his arms around his neck. It's surprising thrilling to do this, to feel another body flush against him – even if it's not Kirk's – and to simply let go of everything he's ever been taught, letting his body take control.

His companion is thinking about sex, and part of Spock is sorry about using him, but it's only logical; if Kirk really wants him, he'll have to come and claim him.

He finds a gap in the throng, and, through it, he meets Kirk's eyes and dares him to.

"_Shush girl_

_Shut your lips_

_Do the Helen Keller_

_And talk with your hips."_

Jim Kirk doesn't like the thought of Spock holding on to that guy on the floor; he'd much rather have Spock right here, and touching him that way.

So, when Spock invites him over with a searing glance, he knows exactly what he's doing. He stands up and moves slowly, his clothes a sweaty second skin, over and onto the dance floor, and then he slides on up and slips his arms around Spock from behind.

The guy with the purple eyes gives him a death glare, but lets go as Spock presses the length of his body against Jim's. Jim leans up and whispers against the back of Spock's neck, "Damn, I didn't know you could do that."

Spock just moans in response, tense and kind of shaky. It's almost impossible to believe that Spock is in front of him, moving for him and feeling something for him.

If he had to pick a reason for his attraction to Spock, he would say that it's the possibility of emotion. He knows that Spock can be emotionally compromised; he's compromised Spock before. Not like this – hell, he hadn't even known that this could work – but it's still something that's been done.

So, as Spock grinds back against him and he moans like a whore (he is one, in the sense that he uses his body to get what he wants), he suddenly finds he wants to do this right. Spock isn't some drunk, slutty girl who won't even remember his name tomorrow; he's got some self-respect, and he knows that Jim isn't just sex and hormones.

Jim slows down the pace, sliding his hands down against Spock's hips and stilling them. He turns Spock around and looks up at him, asking softly, "You mind if I take you somewhere? This isn't the right place."

Spock looks perplexed for a few moments before nodding, judgment overtaking lust. Jim takes his hand gently and leads him off the floor and clean out of the club. He wonders what Uhura will think, but honestly only cares a little. This is his night, his chance with Spock; besides, if she wanted to stop it, she's had plenty of chances.

Spock takes the lead, suddenly, and pushes him up against a wall in the alleyway next door to the club. "Is this more to your liking, Captain?"

He shakes his head, wondering if Spock's playing with him. Pressing a closed-mouthed kiss to Spock's lips, he whispers, "Spock, not gonna give you less than you deserve…and…call me Jim."

Spock goes stock-still, barely even breathing. "You showed no such concern for that girl."

"That's different," Jim says emphatically, sliding a hand down to Spock's hand; he knows that it's an erogenous zone on Vulcans. "She just wanted to fuck the captain of the Enterprise. You want to fuck me, not my rank."

He doesn't usually use the word "fuck" when he's talking to a potential lover, but here it sort of slips out. Spock looks at him, looking as lucid and scrutinizing as ever, and Jim finds himself shaking a little. He lets his hand fall away from Spock's not sure what this look, this moment, means in the grand scheme of their lives.

His face flames red when he wonders briefly if this sort of thing happened between them in the other timeline, or if this is one of those weird changes that isn't supposed to exist.

"Spock?" he asks, tentatively and maybe a little more than nervous.

Spock looks at him. But, slowly, the look changes from scrutiny to understanding and Spock isn't looking anymore. Jim stays as still as he can, because he won't forgive himself if he screws up now.

He's so fucking scared of that, of losing Spock because he's such a fucking whore. Spock doesn't deserve that, he deserves better than James Tiberius Kirk, Starfleet's resident whore.

And now he's confused, because it's never bothered him before that he chases skirts on a regular basis and practices bedroom diplomacy whenever his potential lay is hot. Only Spock has ever done this to him, and he wonders why it's never been so bad before and why he needs to do this right and why, despite the fact that he wants Spock so bad it hurts, he's willing to walk away unsatisfied if Spock's the least bit uncomfortable.

The reason why hits him like a punch to the jaw.

"Oh, no, fuck no, goddamnit," he whispers, and Spock presses another kiss to his mouth as if to comfort him, but all it does is scare him more, "Spock, I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Spock's surprised, and he breathes softly and and rains kisses down Jim's throat. Jim wants him so bad he can hardly breathe, and Spock must know that, because now he's moving against him, rubbing him gently.

Spock doesn't have his hands on Jim's shoulders anymore; now they're working their way up under Jim's shirt and pressing against his chest, just as gently.

The lust and the fear have Jim outright shaking now, and he wants to turn and run, but he can't with Spock here. "Spock, I, I can't do this. I can't do this to you. I'm so fucking sorry I've done this to you and please forgive me because I don't think I can – "

And Spock kisses him harshly, cutting off his ranting, but, God, Jim needs to leave before things go too far because he knows that, if he does have sex with Spock, he'll probably admit he's falling in love with him, and he can't do that.

He pushes Spock away, and, while the half-Vulcan is still reeling a little, he runs.

[end Chapter One]

Word Count: 2,260

Author's Note: I have come to the conclusion that this will probably be the longest fic I ever write for this fandom. I've got six chapters written, I just need to type them. Reviews are much appreciated, especially if they're constructive criticism.


	2. Anything But Mine

Chapter Two: Anything But Mine

Spock is not the type to pursue a lover once they've had a scene like the one…the captain…had last night.

However, something is thoroughly wrong with the situation, and Spock, though he would never admit it to anyone, worries for him. Because of this, he has resolved to attempt to settle this matter.

Nyota doesn't know. Spock can't bring himself to tell her what he has done, what he was willing – is willing – to do with Jim Kirk. She has done nothing to merit such pain, and, while lying by omission makes him feel guilty, he does not want to hurt her.

So, now, in the dimness of the ship's night (at 0200 hours to be more precise), he seeks out the captain, urged along by a strong and utterly human instinct.

It is the instinct of compassion and a vague breath of empathy; Spock is aware that Kirk fears something in the way they had touched. Something in that fear resonates in Spock's chest even now, twenty-five point three hours after it all went painfully far.

He's in the observation deck now, looking at the antique steering wheel from some long-derelict ship from Earth's sailing past. He knows when Kirk enters the room and tenses in that same strange fear that still threads and coils in Spock's core, an unwanted reminder of the brief linking of their minds through touch.

"I am sorry." The words feel strange as they pass his lips.

"No, Spock, it's not you; you were, oh fuck this sounds stupid, you were amazing," Kirk says, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It was all me."

Spock turns to look at his captain in stillness and silent inquiry. He wants to know, but it is against his nature to pry.

"I…just have some issues."

Normally, Spock wouldn't accept so vague an answer, but, looking at Kirk now, he feels that this is the best answer he can rightfully ask for. Instead, he extends a hand out to his captain, letting Kirk decide what will be done here.

He looks at that hand as if it will burn him, but moves toward him slowly. "There's something I…if I…oh, fuck this."

Kirk is trembling like a caged thing, now, but nonetheless he draws closer, trailing his fingers over Spock's palm. Spock wants nothing more than to pull him closer and finish what they started last night, but he is nothing if not patient; his physical desires can, and will, wait.

In the meantime, he just watches as Kirk runs his fingers across the sensitive skin of Spock's hand, taking it into both of his. It is a gesture that is simultaneously erotic and soothing. Spock can't help but close his eyes and exhale softly. He can feel the skittish attraction that Kirk is feeling, and he breathes that in with his next breath; he sees it and accepts it (it does not matter that he doesn't understand it) and tucks it away simply because he knows that it is rare and, therefore, precious.

Kirk is close enough now that the coolness of his human body temperature dances across Spock's face and throat. Spock does not move, staying naturally calm and still because he has a hunch that this is what his…his…

The words 'captain' and 'friend' apply, but they aren't the word Spock is looking for. Spock knows the word he wishes, briefly, suddenly, and fiercely, that he could use, but that is the one word that can never apply to Jim Kirk. Of all the things that are possible, this word is not one of them.

He hides the word away, buries it like a secret that not even he can know, and remains as though nothing has changed.

Kirk is not touching him, except where their hands are entwined; within the last few moments he has taken Spock's other hand hesitantly, almost reverently. There is an unnamed emotion hovering in the air that is a thin buffer between them, and it fascinates Spock.

It is a simple feeling, that much Spock is certain of as he waits for the next movement from the blonde before him.

"I want this more than anything else," Kirk whispers, so low that even Spock, merely centimeters away, can hardly hear him. It does not seem as though he realizes that Spock can hear him.

Oh, but Spock can hear him, and the words send a chill down his spine. It takes so much control to not snatch him up and give him what he wants, but Spock is trying so hard to do the right thing, to prevent a reprise of last night.

He opens his eyes as Kirk drops his hands. The blue eyes that meet his look almost haunted, and he asks, for the first time, "Will you let me help?"

Kirk stiffens, and Spock curses under his breath, knowing that this is the wrong move.

Backing away a little, Kirk looks afraid, as if Spock has just confirmed his fear, this fear that burns in his eyes and makes him shake like a leaf in a tropical storm.

"It won't work. It never works," he says cryptically, the fear morphing into a gut wrenching sadness.

"Jim." It's a last resort, and it feels strange as it bursts from his lips. He has only used the captain's first name once before, on the Narada, when the stakes were much higher.

But, for the second time in as many days, Spock finds himself alone.

*X*X*X*

Jim doesn't have the least idea what to do, having never been in this position before.

So, he goes to the two people who know his baggage best: Bones and Anna. Anna Defevo, the ship's psychologist, has known Jim forever; they grew up together just outside Riverside, even graduated from high school with him. She'd gone into the service right afterward, but Jim had never really known exactly why.

He'd missed her, but now they're almost the same as they'd been before, if a little more weathered and scratched-up.

Bones is his best friend, and has been for nearly four years now; he's seen him at his best and at his worst and knows that sometimes a little sarcasm is the best medicine for a sharp blow to his ego.

He finds them asleep in sickbay, slumped over a half-finished hand of poker. Anna is smiling in her sleep and Bones is snoring loudly. Jim shakes his head and takes Anna's shoulder, brushing aside her long red-blonde hair. He shakes her gently.

She stirs, grumbling, "What…uhbrulmehuhhh mmble…"

He shakes her a little harder and that wakes her up the rest of the way. She sees it's him, and groans, saying, "The nightmares again, Jim?"

"No," he replies quietly. "No, it's that I did something stupid."

She rolls her green eyes. "Commander Spock ain't stupid."

Gob-smacked, Jim stares at her for a long moment with his mouth slightly open. Meanwhile, Bones wakes up slowly, glancing between them irritably.

"Wait, no, I haven't – why the hell would you guess that?"

"Jim, it's goddamn obvious," Bones interjects, his Southern drawl thickened with sleep. "Despite how much it seems like an apocalyptic sign."

"Hell, Chekov noticed. Chekov's about as much of a social wise man as our resident Vulcan's a retarded squirrel," Anna says bluntly. She's great at her job, but her analogies, well, case in point.

"Well, we didn't have sex!" Jim says defensively, plopping himself down into the chair next to Anna.

Bones nods, and looks over at Anna, who says, "But you came close. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here in sickbay at two a.m." She pauses, then continues: "And you wouldn't look like you've lost something."

"Lemme guess," Bones growls, "The green-blooded son of a bitch – " Jim winces subtly; he knows how bad an insult that is, even if Spock's not actually there, " – told ya he wasn't interested, or that he's better than you deserve?"

"He is more than I deserve," Jim mumbles. He's not sure if they can hear him. "And he's not the one who stopped."

"…So you're saying you turned him away?" Anna's starting to get it now, her eyes turning deadly serious and her voice getting softer. "Damn, Jim."

Bones looks grim and sighs, crossing his arms. "You've fallen in love with him, haven't you?"

"Yeah." Jim can't actually say it; it would definitely make something go horribly wrong. He rests his head on his arms, not really sure what he can say without using that word.

"Jim, you need to get over this. You can't pretend you're gonna be able to act like nothing's changed. You almost had sex with your first officer, who's already in a relationship with your communications officer. That's a scandal from here to kingdom come, if Spock ever gets pissed off at you, or if Uhura finds out. Hell, if this was planetside, anybody could've seen you!" Anna groans. "I'd say you're damn crazy about him. You need to tell him."

"Ya owe that to 'im, Jim." Bones looks serious as a funeral.

"Len," Anna broke in, "You know that he has issues with love."

Jim can't stem the tide of faces: his father's photograph; the dozens of men after him that loved and left his mother; Ruth; Casey.

"I know, Anna, but he's gotta do somethin'."

She sighs, and Jim gets the feeling that she agrees with Bones, but she doesn't want to hurt him.

"You should sleep on this, Jim," she eventually murmurs. "Tomorrow's the last day the ship's on leave; you need rest." She's hedging, but Jim is tired, despite everything he has to think about, or maybe because of that.

"I guess so," he agreed. He turned, giving his friends a half-hearted wave.

[end Chapter Two]

Word Count: 1,637

Author's Note: I really like how this chapter turned out. And, SecretsinDesguise, thank you so much for the concrit. Don't worry, Spock will ruminate on the "whys" of what they did in Chapter Six.

Chapter Two: Anything But Mine

Spock is not the type to pursue a lover once they've had a scene like the one…the captain…had last night.

However, something is thoroughly wrong with the situation, and Spock, though he would never admit it to anyone, worries for him. Because of this, he has resolved to attempt to settle this matter.

Nyota doesn't know. Spock can't bring himself to tell her what he has done, what he was willing – is willing – to do with Jim Kirk. She has done nothing to merit such pain, and, while lying by omission makes him feel guilty, he does not want to hurt her.

So, now, in the dimness of the ship's night (at 0200 hours to be more precise), he seeks out the captain, urged along by a strong and utterly human instinct.

It is the instinct of compassion and a vague breath of empathy; Spock is aware that Kirk fears something in the way they had touched. Something in that fear resonates in Spock's chest even now, twenty-five point three hours after it all went painfully far.

He's in the observation deck now, looking at the antique steering wheel from some long-derelict ship from Earth's sailing past. He knows when Kirk enters the room and tenses in that same strange fear that still threads and coils in Spock's core, an unwanted reminder of the brief linking of their minds through touch.

"I am sorry." The words feel strange as they pass his lips.

"No, Spock, it's not you; you were, oh fuck this sounds stupid, you were amazing," Kirk says, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It was all me."

Spock turns to look at his captain in stillness and silent inquiry. He wants to know, but it is against his nature to pry.

"I…just have some issues."

Normally, Spock wouldn't accept so vague an answer, but, looking at Kirk now, he feels that this is the best answer he can rightfully ask for. Instead, he extends a hand out to his captain, letting Kirk decide what will be done here.

He looks at that hand as if it will burn him, but moves toward him slowly. "There's something I…if I…oh, fuck this."

Kirk is trembling like a caged beast now, but he draws closer, trailing his fingers over Spock's palm. Spock wants nothing more than to pull him closer and finish what they started last night, but he is nothing if not patient; his physical desires can, and will, wait.

In the meantime, he just watches as Kirk runs his fingers across the sensitive skin of Spock's hand, taking it into both of his. It is a gesture that is simultaneously erotic and soothing. Spock can't help but close his eyes and exhale softly. He can feel the skittish attraction that Kirk is feeling, and he breathes that in with his next breath; he sees it and accepts it (it does not matter that he doesn't understand it) and tucks it away simply because he knows that it is rare and, therefore, precious.

Kirk is close enough now that the coolness of his human body temperature dances across Spock's face and throat. Spock does not move, staying naturally calm and still because he has a hunch that this is what his…his…

The words 'captain' and 'friend' apply, but they aren't the word Spock is looking for. Spock knows the word he wishes, briefly, suddenly, and fiercely, that he could use, but that is the one word that can never apply to Jim Kirk. Of all the things that are possible, this word is not one of them.

He hides the word away, buries it like a secret that not even he can know, and remains as though nothing has changed.

Kirk is not touching him, except where their hands are entwined; within the last few moments he has taken Spock's other hand hesitantly, almost reverently. There is an unnamed emotion hovering in the air that is a thin buffer between them, and it fascinates Spock.

It is a simple feeling, that much Spock is certain of as he waits for the next movement from the blonde before him.

"I want this more than anything else," Kirk whispers, so low that even Spock, merely centimeters away, can hardly hear him. It does not seem as though he realizes that Spock can hear him.

Oh, but Spock can hear him, and the words send a chill down his spine. It takes so much control to not snatch him up and give him what he wants, but Spock is trying so hard to do the right thing, to prevent a reprise of last night.

He opens his eyes as Kirk drops his hands. The blue eyes that meet his look almost haunted, and he asks, for the first time, "Will you let me help?"

Kirk stiffens, and Spock curses under his breath, knowing that this is the wrong move.

Backing away a little, Kirk looks afraid, as if Spock has just confirmed his fear, this fear that burns in his eyes and makes him shake like a leaf in a tropical storm.

"It won't work. It never works," he says cryptically, the fear morphing into a gut wrenching sadness.

"Jim." It's a last resort, and it feels strange as it bursts from his lips. He has only used the captain's first name once before, on the Narada, when the stakes were much higher.

But, for the second time in as many days, Spock finds himself alone.

*X*X*X*

Jim doesn't have the least idea what to do, having never been in this position before.

So, he goes to the two people who know his baggage best: Bones and Anna. Anna Defevo, the ship's psychologist, has known Jim forever; they grew up together just outside Riverside, even graduated from high school with him. She'd gone into the service right afterward, but Jim had never really known exactly why.

He'd missed her, but now they're almost the same as they'd been before, if a little more weathered and scratched-up.

Bones is his best friend, and has been for nearly four years now; he's seen him at his best and at his worst and knows that sometimes a little sarcasm is the best medicine for a sharp blow to his ego.

He finds them asleep in sickbay, slumped over a half-finished hand of poker. Anna is smiling in her sleep and Bones is snoring loudly. Jim shakes his head and takes Anna's shoulder, brushing aside her long red-blonde hair. He shakes her gently.

She stirs, grumbling, "What…uhbrulmehuhhh mmble…"

He shakes her a little harder and that wakes her up the rest of the way. She sees it's him, and groans, saying, "The nightmares again, Jim?"

"No," he replies quietly. "No, it's that I did something stupid."

She rolls her green eyes. "Commander Spock ain't stupid."

Gob-smacked, Jim stares at her for a long moment with his mouth slightly open. Meanwhile, Bones wakes up slowly, glancing between them irritably.

"Wait, no, I haven't – why the hell would you guess that?"

"Jim, it's goddamn obvious," Bones interjects, his Southern drawl thickened with sleep. "Despite how much it seems like an apocalyptic sign."

"Hell, Chekov noticed. Chekov's about as much of a social wise man as our resident Vulcan's a retarded squirrel," Anna says bluntly. She's great at her job, but her analogies, well, case in point.

"Well, we didn't have sex!" Jim says defensively, plopping himself down into the chair next to Anna.

Bones nods, and looks over at Anna, who says, "But you came close. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here in sickbay at two a.m." She pauses, then continues: "And you wouldn't look like you've lost something."

"Lemme guess," Bones growls, "The green-blooded son of a bitch – " Jim winces subtly; he knows how bad an insult that is, even if Spock's not actually there, " – told ya he wasn't interested, or that he's better than you deserve?"

"He is more than I deserve," Jim mumbles. He's not sure if they can hear him. "And he's not the one who stopped."

"…So you're saying you turned him away?" Anna's starting to get it now, her eyes turning deadly serious and her voice getting softer. "Damn, Jim."

Bones looks grim and sighs, crossing his arms. "You've fallen in love with him, haven't you?"

"Yeah." Jim can't actually say it; it would definitely make something go horribly wrong. He rests his head on his arms, not really sure what he can say without using that word.

"Jim, you need to get over this. You can't pretend you're gonna be able to act like nothing's changed. You almost had sex with your first officer, who's already in a relationship with your communications officer. That's a scandal from here to kingdom come, if Spock ever gets pissed off at you, or if Uhura finds out. Hell, if this was planetside, anybody could've seen you!" Anna groans. "I'd say you're damn crazy about him. You need to tell him."

"Ya owe that to 'im, Jim." Bones looks serious as a funeral.

"Len," Anna broke in, "You know that he has issues with love."

Jim can't stem the tide of faces: his father's photograph; the dozens of men after him that loved and left his mother; Ruth; Casey.

"I know, Anna, but he's gotta do somethin'."

She sighs, and Jim gets the feeling that she agrees with Bones, but she doesn't want to hurt him.

"You should sleep on this, Jim," she eventually murmurs. "Tomorrow's the last day the ship's on leave; you need rest." She's hedging, but Jim is tired, despite everything he has to think about, or maybe because of that.

"I guess so," he agreed. He turned, giving his friends a half-hearted wave.

[end Chapter Two]

Word Count: 1,637 Author's Note: I really like how this chapter turned out. And, SecretsinDesguise, thank you so much for the concrit. Don't worry, Spock will ruminate on the "whys" of what they did in Chapter Six.


	3. Dirty Little Secret

Chapter Three: Dirty Little Secret

The rumors, the dirty little whispers, are everywhere the next morning; Nyota, Spock, and Captain Kirk aren't the only crew members who were at that bar last night.

Of course, nobody knows everything about what happened, and most people don't even know the half of it.

One girl swears she saw the captain in a booth making out with a redhead but denies anything else; one of the guys claims he watched Kirk and Spock grinding on the dance floor, but one of the buddies says that he didn't see either of them in the bar at all.

Most people don't believe that Spock was at that bar, much less on the floor with the captain, because it just doesn't make, to coin a phrase, logical sense.

Nyota can't blame them for that, but envies them all the same; she knows most of what happened, and only a fool can't fill in the blanks: Kirk and the girl, Spock watching, the girl leaving, Spock dancing, Kirk and Spock leaving together. It's not hard to infer that sex happened.

She's not sure how to feel about it. In fact, she's completely numb over the whole situation.

She does love Spock, she knows that much, and she should be jealous that James T. Kirk could seduce him so easily. Part of her is green with envy, but, more of her feels guilty; if she'd maybe been a better lover, or refused to let him put up those stupid walls of logical bullshit, maybe Kirk wouldn't have succeeded.

Why the captain has such magnetism isn't much of a mystery when you're talking about all the women he's bedded. He's physically attractive to most humanoid species, intelligent, witty, bold, and has a reputation. Girls like heroes, and girls like bad boys-Kirk is both.

But how could he draw in Spock, of all people, as if he is some fascinating experiment? Spock is no fawning fan-girl. He has a good head on his shoulders, and he knows that the captain has trouble written all over him.

Before last night, Spock hadn't shown the slightest interest in Kirk as a lover. Nyota wonders just what has changed Spock's stubborn Vulcan mind.

She doesn't know, doesn't have the slightest idea, and that bothers her. After all, she knows Spock better than anyone else on board the Enterprise; she's touched him, felt his mind at the edge of her own as they kissed, and she knows that he likes to play music and chess and his favorite food is spinach.

She doesn't think Kirk knows half of what she does, and that gives her some comfort as she combs her wet hair in the mirror, gathering it in sections because she feels like braiding it today.

Halfway down the long tail, a chime sounds from the door to her quarters. It's odd, because she isn't expecting anyone and she has to go on skeleton crew shift in an hour, but she gets up from her mirror and answers the door, trying to disregard the part of her that is afraid that it could be Spock out there in the hallway.

It is Spock, looking almost human in his obvious confusion and the guilt that radiates off of him.

She looks at him, anger suddenly singeing hot in her chest. She can't comprehend what this is all about, and she acts like any normal woman would in her position.

She slams the door shut in his face by punching the little keypad next to the doorframe.

*X*X*X*

Kirk slides into the captain's chair, looking perfectly at ease to the bridge crew. There's no hint at any kind of problem; it's almost as though nothing at all happened on this past shore leave, much less the Incident.

Spock has taken to calling it that; it doesn't sound as emotional as the Incident had actually been.

He sits at his own post, occupying himself with the scanner and its steady stream of data, categorizing and storing it almost as quickly as it arrives in front of him. All is quiet; no anomalous, or even remotely odd, conditions exist outside the hull of the Enterprise.

Inside is a different story entirely, Spock muses darkly to himself for a moment.

Of course, speak of a devil, and so he shall appear. Kirk is almost immediately at his side, also reading the scanner. "Everything all right, Spock?"

"There is nothing to report, Captain." Perhaps he puts a little more emphasis on Kirk's title, despite the fact that Kirk is almost certainly not referring to the Incident. He simply cannot get it off of his mind.

The captain looks at him and nods a little, before gracing him with the ghost of his smile.

Then, he does the unexpected, though 'unexpected' often quite normal procedure for Jim Kirk, and leans in close to whisper, "Listen, I want to talk to you after shift's over. Meeting Room 2."

With that, he moves over to the next console to speak to its occupant, leaving Spock to ponder what he has said.

It is not an order, far from one, in fact. Kirk did not sound insistent, nor lustful; it is just a sentence, a little request, with no apparent ulterior movie.

Spock decides he will oblige the captain and see what he has to say, and, suddenly, the end of alpha shift can't come fast enough for Spock's piqued curiosity.

*X*X*X*

Jim's been waiting all day for this. He's nervous as all hell, because it's going to be him and Spock with (hopefully) no distractions.

He isn't going to admit how he feels about Spock. He's terrified of how that can, and will, screw things over, and, well, prior experience tells him it never ends well to say those three words, even if he appends "I think" at the beginning.

Butterflies have taken up residence in his stomach, and he breathes in as deeply as he can. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he paces the room.

He whips around when the door hisses open. It's Spock, looking a little uncertain.

"Umm…hi," Jim mumbles, blushing despite his best efforts.

"Hello, Captain." Spock's voice is steady, and that helps steady Jim as well. He's not sure why, but it does, and he smiles a little. He walks toward his first officer.

Spock doesn't move back, which is a good sign, especially given the nature of this meeting.

Sobering a little, he meets Spock's eyes and asks, "Does Uhura know?"

Spock looks down. "She does not, to my knowledge." He pauses awkwardly and moves a little closer, closing the distance to about an arm's length. "However, she has not spoken to me since I attempted to explain myself yesterday morning."

Jim is hit in the gut with a feeling of pure, deserved guilt. All of this is his goddamn fault, and he could've stopped it when it was still safe.

"God, Spock, I'm so so– "

Spock stops him with a short, almost chaste kiss. "You have apologized to me more times during the last three point six five days than I have ever previously heard you apologize to anyone during the entirety of your captaincy."

"I've had more reason to apologize to you, Spock." He has to step back before that kiss becomes something decidedly fiercer.

Spock looks, for whatever reason, disappointed. There's a long silence between them, and it fills the room. It's not awkward for Spock to be quiet as the grave, but this is an oppressive silence, one that feels like it's strangling the life out of him.

He doesn't really have anything he can say, either, to break the silence. His rash, bold nature has fled him for this conversation.

"You want to see if she'll talk to me about it?" He offers, voice loud in the face of the previous silence.

Spock takes in a breath. "…Yes."

Jim moves around Spock and toward the door. Right before he leaves, though, he turns back toward his first officer. "And, Spock…give her a little time. If she loves you, she'll come around again."

[end Chapter Three]

Word Count: 1,347

Author's Note: I think the next chapter will be longer…at least, I hope it is.

To all my reviewers (good God, it sounds so cool to be able to say that I have people reading my stuff), I'd like to thank you, and I totally agree with the general "poor Jim" sentiment going around. Unfortunately, Jim's got some more issues that require exploration…

I'm trying to update on a once-a-week schedule, to give myself time to write and type everything up.

BTW, I have to recommend that everybody check out theplanetmary's Native Sky series. It's got this awesome premise involving Kirk, Spock, trust, and horses. Believe me, I was a little iffy on it at first, but now I squee and flail around whenever she updates the current WIP for it, "Lost Horse Creek, Montana." Mad props to theplanetmary for creativity, detail, and absolutely awesome original characters!


	4. Unfaithful

Chapter Four: Unfaithful

Nyota isn't expecting to see Captain Kirk at her door right before dinner, but then, she hadn't been expecting anyone. Pulling up all of the civility she can muster, she says, "Is there anything I can do for you, Captain?"

"Give him another shot. It wasn't his fault, and we didn't have sex."

It takes her a moment to realize that he's talking about Spock, and another moment to convince herself that, yes, this is really happening. "Why?"

"I realized how much of a bad idea it was." The words seem carefully chosen, and Nyota wonders just how much Kirk isn't telling her. However, she can tell he isn't lying – months of trying to get around Vulcan walls of omission have given her a pretty good grasp at how to tell when she's being bluffed – and so she figures it's personal.

She nods at him, accepting his response.

"Just…" He cuts himself off before he can finish the sentence, looking down for half a second.

When his eyes meet hers, they're full of steely determination; this is his 'captain face.' He smiles at her reassuringly, though the smile doesn't reach his eyes, and walks off.

She watches him go, wondering why he's suddenly decided to give up.

That is what he's doing, giving up. She's never heard of Jim Kirk not going all the way with somebody he gets the chance with. He's the most infamous horndog in all of Starfleet, and it perennially surprises everyone up to the brass that he's managed to keep his hands (and tongue, and hips, etc) off of his crew. Of course, he's not a total idiot, and he probably knows that sleeping with crewmembers is not going to endear him to Kommack or anyone else.

Still, she gets the feeling that this isn't about Spock being a member of the crew. Something about Spock has made everything change.

Trying to put it all aside, she heads down to the mess hall for dinner.

When she gets there, Janice waves her over and pats a spot for her to sit at. "Uhura! You won't believe what I saw this afternoon!"

Janice Rand has a penchant for gossip, and she's probably the best person on board the ship to go to if you need somebody's personal information. Nyota decides that she won't tell her what just happened between her and the captain, because she herself is a little too credible a source for the rumor mill that the pretty blonde runs.

Sliding into the offered seat, she asks, "What's up?"

"Well, you know all the crazy stuff going around about Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock?" she replies, crossing her legs, "Well, there's finally something concrete."

Nyota does an eyebrow-take to rival Spock himself and asks, going through tonight's dinner options absently, "What happened?"

Janice giggles. "I happened to be passing by Mr. Spock's station when the captain was talking to him, and the captain whispered something about meeting him in Meeting Room 2." She pauses, grinning wickedly. "I'd say there's something going on between your boyfriend and our dear captain; rumors have to come from somewhere, don't they?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Rand," interjects the captain himself, sliding into a seat across from her and giving both women a start. "I'll bet you anything that it's some idiot with a grudge."

Nyota mentally applauds Kirk for his incredible ability to bluff. He's smooth as silk and grinning his head off; his masculine wiles are hard at work here.

"Besides, don't I have a…how did Anna put it…'notorious fondness' for pretty blondes?" He's laying in on thick, grinning and nearly purring out the question. Nyota's certain Janice is turning into a mental puddle of mush by now; Nyota herself is the only being she's ever known who could resist the infamous 'Kirk charm.'

Janice giggles, leaning on the table and displaying as much of her cleavage as is possible in a regulation Starfleet uniform by performing what Nyota likes to call the 'whorey boob squash.'

Kirk plays along, letting his eyes drift lazily down to Janice's chest and back to her face. Nyota can barely contain her laughter at the overacting, and gets up to go get her dinner before Kirk explodes flirtatiousness all over the mess hall.

On line, she finds herself right behind Spock, and decides that now is as good a time as any to take Kirk's advice.

"Spock," she murmurs, brushing her fingers across his elbow.

He turns around and looks at her, confusion visible in his eyes. It hits Nyota then that all of this is affecting Spock deeply; perhaps it's because he's never been in a situation remotely like this before.

She tilts her head toward the door and says, "Talk to me, Spock."

He nods, the confusion now hidden behind the usual mask of indifference. Nyota tugs at his elbow, and they leave the line, leave the mess hall entirely.

Once outside, she leads him to an empty rec room and asks him, "What happened between you and Kirk?"

At the mention of the captain, Spock stiffens slightly. But, he looks her dead in the eye and says softly, "I am not entirely certain. It is…complicated."

"Did you have sex with him?" Nyota knows that this kind of blunt interrogation is the only way she'll get answers out of him.

"No." Spock pauses. "I…desired…him, though."

Nyota's not surprised, by his answer or his honesty; Spock is nothing if not honest. "And what did he do when you turned him down?"

He sighs, looking momentarily down at the floor beneath their feat. "I did not turn him down."

Nyota feels her jaw drop.

Taking in a deep breath, he continues: "He came to some realization in the midst of our…liaison…that prevented him from continuing. He terminated the encounter."

"So…you're saying…you would have?"

"Yes."

Nyota is numb, even more so than she was the morning she slammed the door in Spock's face.

None of it makes any sense to her; what kind of hold does Kirk have over Spock that Spock could want him this badly? What kind of 'magic' could do that?

"What about me?" she asks softly, plaintively.

Spock reaches out, tracing her cheekbone. "I care for you."

That's the moment when she realizes he's not in love with her. Maybe he was, once, but not now. He might love her, but she knows now that he isn't in love with her.

She starts to cry, flinching away from Spock's gentle touch. He can't understand what she's feeling, she knows that, and she doesn't give a rat's ass as she turns around and walks away; it's not her problem, given what he's done to her.

[end Chapter Four]

Word Count: 1,121

Author's note: Damnit. I was hoping this one was longer, but it isn't. Anyway, this is basically "The Uhura Chapter." I really feel bad for her; she didn't do anything to deserve this, and I do like her character. Maybe I like her TOS incarnation a little better (you know, because her moments of AWESOME come out of absolutely nowhere), but nu!Trek Uhura has my total respect for being able to resist the Kirk charm. I know that if Kirk tried the "talented tongue" line on me, I'd be well on my way to, as Brittany of TSC fame puts it, "prone like a whore at an orgy." Anyway, I do owe Brittany for the Kirk exploding line. Check out the Commentary chapter for "Tomorrow is Yesterday" for my inspiration on that one.

To Terminal Ambivalence: That mini-scene is hilarious! Jim would, in my mind, totally regret castration. The captain likes his sexxytimez almost as much as he likes his Vulcan.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

Spock, for the second time in the past week, is completely at a loss. As Nyota walks away, he's frozen in place, observing everything about this moment but understanding none of it.

Nyota's hair is black, and it does not swing laterally as she moves down the corridor, instead hanging heavily down between her shoulder blades and ending abruptly just above her buttocks. It has grown since the destruction of Vulcan eighteen point one months ago, and Spock finds, has always found, it aesthetically pleasing. Her uniform is red and ends two point five inches above her knees, exposing the major portion of her thighs. Her boots begin just below her knees and coat her calves in the leather substitute Starfleet uses for all uniform boots. Her skin is brown, like coffee with milk added to it; Spock has mapped that skin with his fingers once and once only, just after his mother's death, when his fragile composure could be shattered with the tiniest of pressures.

She moves at a swift, clipped walk, hands limp and swinging gently at her sides, her back ramrod straight and tense. The walls of the corridor are silver in color, sleekly built but nonmetallic in luster, and the fluorescent lights from the ceiling cast a very slight tinge of blue over everything. The scent of cinnamon lingers in the air where Nyota had been standing, although she is now almost to the turbolift. The click of her heels is audible, even at this distance, even and controlled, and, just beneath that layer of sound in the near silence of this time and place, he can also here the rushing of blood in his veins and the unsteadiness of his own breathing.

Nyota has boarded the turbolift now, and things begin to snap into place like puzzle pieces, the conclusions attaching themselves to his observations like ticks to a stray animal.

Nyota is leaving him. He will no longer be able to turn to her for the sort of comfort she has previously provided, should that become necessary, and he certainly will not be able to turn to her when his…time…comes; this is the price of his infidelity.

This is the price of wanting Captain Kirk.

It seems as though he should have listened to his logic rather than his reproductive organs; he'd really expected something like this, had he not?

He is in pain over it; his heart physically aches, a sensation he connects, subconsciously, to the loss of his mother, and it feels as though something is caught in his throat. He needs meditation, time alone to clear his mind, to understand the why behind this situation, and to come to some decision on how to handle it. He has not meditated in over a week, and he wonders if that is perhaps the reason he was…indiscreet with captain: a lack of adequate mental rest.

However, he must eat first; he hasn't eaten since breakfast, and he must have sustenance before he can come to any sort of conclusion about any of this.

So, as if nothing has changed, he walks back to the mess hall.

*X*X*X*

Jim knows something is wrong the moment Spock walks in. First, Uhura's not with him, and they'd left together. Second his first officer is wearing that same look he'd worn that night on the observation deck. Jim doesn't know what it means, but he knows it's not a good sign, not a good sign at all.

Yeoman Rand, Uhura's pretty blonde friend, left only moments ago; Kirk is alone at the table. He wonders if he should invite Spock over. There'll be people who take it as proof of the rumors, and he doubts Spock wants to feed the fire that had started.

Both fires, actually.

But Spock looks so damn lost and lonely, and that pulls something in Jim's heart. Deciding to live by that rule he's had for a long time, "to hell with it," he stands up. As smoothly and casually as he can muster, he walks over to Spock, getting on line behind him.

Spock stiffens immediately. Jim knows something is definitely wrong, now, and tries to strike up some light conversation; it's one of his best tactics for a situation like this, and he happens to be the undisputed king of small talk. "So, Spock, what's up?"

"The ceiling," Spock deadpans tiredly. It's a classic Spock reply, but there's none of the usual lighthearted sarcasm that usually surrounds it.

Jim forces a little laugh, trying to pretend that nothing's wrong, that he and Spock are still – sort of – friends. He doesn't know what he can call himself and Spock now, given everything that's happened.

He wants to help, to fix everything. He can't, and he feels powerless. He hates that feeling, hates it so much that he's tempted to spin Spock around and kiss him, right there in the mess, to wipe the pain away, even for a little while. Damn his heart, damn his inability to keep his eyes off the Vulcan, and damn the universe for putting him in this position.

He's eaten already; he has no excuse to stay on this line, but he does. He can't stand seeing Spock hurt.

"Hey, do you play chess?" he asks, grasping at straws to salvage the conversation. Spock's a genius, after all, and a lot of famous geniuses played chess, right?

Spock starts briefly and turns a little towards Jim. "Yes."

Jim has never admitted it to anyone, except for Bones, but he was the captain of his high school chess team in his senior year; he even brought them all the way to Regional, which was huge for a small city in Iowa.

He smiles at Spock. "So do I. Do you want to play sometime?"

Spock's eyebrow creeps upward toward his hairline. "I would not be opposed to such an interaction.

Jim's torn between triumphant joy at the prospect of doing something, anything, with Spock, and indignance at the implication that Spock is "opposed" to certain…other…interactions that they've had. Despite his reputation, Jim does have a measure of self-control; he'll have to Spock, it seems.

He smiles brightly at his first officer. "Great!"

Spock just quirks his eyebrow again, but Jim gets the impression that Spock is sort of happy now.

Mission: Get Spock to Stop Looking Like a Lost Puppy? Accomplished, with a bonus.

*X*X*X*

When Jim bursts into sickbay looking like he's got some amazing secret hidden up his sleeve, Anna trades a look with McCoy that asks "What could he be so happy about?"

"Christmas came early?" Leonard offers helpfully.

"Better," Jim says, grinning like an idiot, "Spock plays chess!"

Anna smiles, actually clapping her hands like a teenager. She has a hunch that Jim and Spock can, at the very least, become close friends.

She's delved into the half-Vulcan's psych file. It's very small, and only told her a little about him, but what she gleaned from it makes her almost certain that the two of them can help each other heal away their personal demons.

Leonard just shakes his head. He still doesn't know what to think of all this, though Anna has explained why she's so firmly in that corner.

But, right now, both of them just want Jim to be okay.

It seems, to Anna at least, that Spock might be able to make him more than that.

[end Chapter Five]

Word Count: 1,239

Author's note: Okay, from here on out the chapters get longer. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I'm excited about the next few.


	6. Maiden Wine

Chapter Six: Maiden Wine

Spock is alone in his quarters, doing his best to meditate. The room is silent, and the candles are burning, the light of them the only light in the room.

Of course, Spock is deep inside his own mind, not really giving the lighting or the scent of the candles (vanilla; a gift from his mother and a smell Nyota had always favored) any thought; there are more pressing matters at hand than simple relaxation

He needs to figure out his current situation, and his own stand on all of it.

He begins, as he always does, with himself. He slows his heartbeat, almost down to human resting levels, and then focuses on his breath. Soon it is coming in a slow, steady stream; his diaphragm expands and contracts fully with each discrete breath he takes.

All of his physical self is ready now for him to set his body on a metaphorical autopilot, and he does, sinking deeper into his own mind and its many levels of consciousness. It can be likened to entering a library with a hundred floors; he could theoretically spend days in this state, going through each thought or experience he's ever had.

Of course, he has a task, and only a few hours in which to complete it. So, he rifles through his memories, reaching back to the night of the Incident.

He cannot afford to get lost in the memories, but it does not surprise him that part of him wants to. Ignoring it, he probes the moment he decided to let instinct and lust take over.

Kirk was mesmerizing, his sexual nature on explicit display, yet seeming to reserve itself for Spock. Although that woman had been the one touching him, he had looked at Spock throughout the evening, almost as if he was challenging him.

But that cannot be the whole of it, Spock reminds himself, because lust is fleeting and this is not. He has felt the same pull in two other situations, has he not? On the observation deck, he had sensed Kirk's need to hide as well as his desire. The itch of his own desire had been hard to hold back, the gentle, hesitant touches to his hands that Kirk has graced him with making him so tempted to return the favor.

Gentleness had replaced the lust of the nightclub and its adjacent alley. Fear had swirled in the layer of air between them, along with something else Spock cannot name.

The third encounter had been still unlike the other two; less "wrong," perhaps, than the Incident, but, certainly it spoke of a lack of control. He had kissed the captain on impulse, to quiet him and to avoid having to hear the phrase "I'm sorry" fall from the captain's lips yet again.

Spock tries to put the pieces of emotions and actions together, but all of it remains disjointed and confusing.

All of it leads back to the nameless emotion, the one he cannot understand and refuses to acknowledge as often as he can, despite its blatancy and almost Kirk-like stubbornness.

He turns his attention to the captain himself, in order to perhaps infer what motivated him to begin this whole debacle. Kirk is attractive; his confidence and physical appearance draw women to him like moths to a flame.

And, like those moths, they are invariably burned.

It strikes Spock then that, in many ways, Kirk is fire. He is erratic, never entirely predictable; he is not easily controlled or tamed, even by Starfleet and its many dangers; he is passionate, in lust as well as in work; and, when the occasional calls for it, he is warm and comforting.

It makes Spock's assessments more difficult, but it is a new understanding of his captain, and, for that, he is willing to bear more difficulties.

He knows enough of Nyota to understand why she has left him. She always believed in their relationship, and in their romantic compatibility, and this betrayal, conscious and willing, has no doubt made her reconsider her previous opinions.

They are compatible, Spock must admit to himself. They both enjoy music, and they both have a talent for it. She speaks Vulcan well, and understands that he cannot show affection for her as often or in the same ways as a human partner could.

Yes, they are compatible.

Knowing that the likelihood of finding another like her is miniscule at best, he supposes he should regret what he has done.

But he cannot.

Something in him cannot regret what he has done. He doesn't regret touching Kirk. He feels guilty for the pain he has caused Nyota, but he does not regret the actions themselves.

However, guilt and regret are both emotions, and he must suppress them. He must prevent another Incident, if only to save whatever friendship remains between himself and the captain, and between himself and Nyota. He must fix what has been broken, and that will be difficult enough without his attraction to Jim Kirk bubbling so close to the surface of his thoughts and actions. He must bury it.

Quieting his thoughts, he begins the process.

*X*X*X*

Jim passes the door to Spock's quarters and stops. He can smell vanilla and he's never smelled vanilla coming from Spock's rooms before.

The sweet smell reminds him of home and high school, when all the girls thought that vanilla was the best thing since the invention of no-slip cream makeup. Almost all of the girls he'd kissed in those days wore vanilla perfume. Smelling it now, just outside Spock's quarters, he turns to the door, wanting to see what Spock is doing with the smell of vanilla.

He doesn't, though. He walks by, entering his own quarters. Whatever Spock is doing, it's Spock's business. He's messed up enough when it comes to the half-Vulcan, anyway.

Softly, he sighs and sprawls out on his bed, the scent of vanilla still lingering in his nose.

Damn. He really needs to stop. Spock might want him, but it doesn't matter, because he can't hurt Spock. And he will hurt Spock, like he's hurt everyone before him. He doesn't think, really, that Spock could hurt him.

Soon, he falls asleep.

*X*X*X*

Anna sighs, running through the files again. She's caught wind that the Fleet may be digging up ancient history, and she needs to be prepared.

Nothing she hasn't seen before. Only Jim.

Which means she needs to talk to Leonard. Grudgingly, she gets up from her desk and leaves the small office she basically only used for card games these days.

After all, after a year and a half, most of the crew has adjusted to the destruction of Vulcan. She can't speak for Spock, but he seems to be coping okay, despite the fact he lost his mother that same day and dealt with Jim's "mutiny" only a few hours after. And then beat the crap out of Jim when he came back.

Anna isn't one of the maiden crew of the Enterprise (she transferred over from the Constellation soon after the destruction of Vulcan), so she's only going by what she can drag out of the bridge crew.

Personally, though, she doesn't think she's quite ready to be dealing with not only that, but the psyches and emotional problems of four hundred and thirty-five people all on her own, only getting her doctorate practically shoved in her lap about two weeks after the Narada Incident, and this position only three days after that.

Leonard's in his own office, rifling through a database.

"Len?" she asks, knocking on the edge of the open door. Leonard McCoy has become a good friend of hers over the past seventeen months. It didn't take long to get in good graces with him; after all, they had the whole "Keep Jim from getting himself killed or otherwise damaged" thing in common.

"Anna." He's just as grim. "I guess you heard the rumors."

"They can't send us there. Not unless they mean to 'emotionally compromise' our dear captain." Anna crosses her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "And Jim's done nothing to warrant that."

"I know. If they do, I'll be filing more reports with Starfleet than they'll know what to do with!"

Anna nods in agreement. "And the next time I run into Kommack or Nogura or Archer, I swear I'll bitch-slap the sonuvabitch into next week, and to hell with the consequences," she fumes.

Leonard smiles, and Anna feels rather warm. He doesn't smile often, but, when he does, it's a very nice one. She doesn't think he realizes it, though.

"Well, now that that's settled," Leonard says after a moment, looking at the clock, "It's almost midnight. We oughtta get some sleep."

A little silence falls as he joins her at the door. He gives her a wry grin and offers her his arm. Letting more of his Dixie accent show through, he drawls, "Now, should I be escortin' ya to yer room, Miss?"

He does this every now and then, and it never fails to make her smile. She even has her own standard, mock-indignant reply: "Why, my chastity, Doctor!"

Of course, they're teasing, and she takes his arm anyway.

[end Chapter Six]

Word Count: 1,530

Author's note: Yes, those are the hints of Mc/OC that I promised in the summary. I really hope to god she's not a Mary-Sue. Somebody please honestly critique my characterization of McCoy, too? I love Bones, he's my personal favorite TOS male, and the only thing that really changed between DeForest Kelley's portrayal and Urban's is eye color. So I'm hoping to God I got him right.


	7. Holes

Chapter Seven: Holes

"Understood, Admiral," Kirk says, voice quiet and neutral. He appears to be taking a few leaves from Spock's book; besides the neutrality of his voice, his face is completely blank, and his posture is perfectly straight.

A murmur of surprise ripples around the bridge. It's a well known fact that there's no love lost between the captain and Admiral Kommack, but normally Kirk shows it through veiled sarcasm and innuendo so subtle it can be missed if one blinks. He doesn't go completely still and speak as though he actually cares about Starfleet Command.

Spock rises as the viewscreen goes blank, mentally going through the orders they've just been given. They are being sent to Tarsus IV, to see if it is suitable for a second attempt at colonization.

The tragedy that had taken place there twelve years ago had sent shockwaves through the galaxy. Perhaps…

No. When Kirk feels sorrow, he expresses it in his face and voice. He does not shut down; that is as far from his personality as roaming the halls weeping is for Spock's.

By now, Spock is beside the captain's chair. He looks down at Kirk, curiosity and concern both attempting to seize control. He wants to know what has put Kirk into this state, and he wants to find a way to get rid of it.

But, before he can do anything more than lay a hand gingerly on the arm of the captain's chair, Chekov speaks. "I zink zat ze Ahdmirull has brokehn ze Keptin."

"A stallion must first be broken," Spock whispers low, under his breath; the words he had spoken to Dr. McCoy shortly after throwing Kirk off of the Enterprise for mutiny. They are hollow, now, and Spock realizes that a broken Kirk is not the Kirk who commands the Enterprise and her crew through mortal danger on an eerily regular basis.

However, Chekov's comment brings back a ghost of Kirk's normal levity. "I'm fine."

He looks up at Spock and tries to smile. It does not reach his eyes, and Spock raises an eyebrow in response. Kirk's title is on the tip of Spock's tongue, but he is uncertain what would follow it, so he ultimately does not speak.

"Mr. Sulu," Kirk continues, solemn but seemingly back to his own personality, "Lay in a course for Tarsus IV."

Sulu nods and does as ordered, and Spock returns to his post as they make the jump to warp two. He does not know why he is so bothered by the captain's brief behavioral shift, but he resolves to seek out said change's cause by asking the one person he knows of who knows Kirk well enough to give an accurate answer: Dr. McCoy.

However, within fifteen minutes, the captain has called a meeting of his command staff, and Spock is in Meeting Room One, seated at the leftmost end of the crescent-shaped table. Dr. McCoy is present, accompanied by a young woman that Spock remembers as Dr. Defevo, the lieutenant serving as ship's psychologist.

Currently she is affixing the captain with a glare that Spock is quite sure would be considered insubordinate coming from anyone not a member of the medical department.

Next to her, it seems McCoy is also trying to bore holes in Kirk with only his eyes.

On the other end of the table, Chief Engineer Scott is watching the proceedings with a fair amount of trepidation. Spock surmises that Spock is aware that a pair of doctors wearing the exact same angry expression does not bode well for anyone involved, particularly for the captain their eyes are trained on.

As for the captain, he, to a casual observer, seems entirely back to his intentionally carefree normal state. He is sitting on the table, legs crossed and leaning a little on his left hand, gamely meeting the glowering of the doctors with his characteristic smirk.

However, Spock is no casual observer, and he is perfectly aware that all is not well.

Kirk's eyes do not share the mischief of his mouth; they are distant and hidden. Spock knows this look, knows it well, because it is the look in his own eyes whenever he looks in a mirror. Tension is present in the captain's arms and back, and despite the fact that he is not resting much weight on his hand, he is pressing his fingers into the table hard enough to turn the middles of his fingernails a dark shade of pink. It is clear as day that his facades are up, and they are as dark as Spock's own.

Everything about this situation screams "Something. Is. Wrong." Spock is about to break the silence, but McCoy does it for him. "Damnit, Jim! You're not going down there!"

Kirk's false confidence sags a bit, and, for a few moments, he looks weary. "Shut up, Bones."

His voice has an ancient quality to it now, and something sparks behind his eyes. Spock wonders why his captain has changed so much due to this mission. He cannot fathom the changes' cause or causes, and, had he been human, he would have been severely irritated.

The captain speaks again. "Me, Chekov, Lt. Harris, and Yeoman Sh'gera are going to beam down. Don't bitch about it, Bones."

Dr. Defevo opens her mouth to object, but Kirk cuts her off.

"You either, Anna."

Apparently, the captain is on a first name basis with the lieutenant. Spock arches an eyebrow; he's never heard them converse before, and Kirk has never mentioned her in passing.

"Damnit, Jim," both doctors say in unison. Then, as Kirk starts laughing, they look at each other in surprise.

Scott hasn't spoken at all, and looks as though he'd much rather be back down in Engineering as opposed to watching two medical officers unleash some considerable anger on the captain. Admittedly, part of Spock also prefers to be elsewhere, but, for the most part, he is too…too fascinated by the goings-on. Why are the doctors so dead-set against Kirk's intent to beam down?

"Why – " he begins, but Kirk fixes him with a look. It is not a look Spock has previously seen on the young captain; it is almost pleading, and the amusement at McCoy and Defevo's apparent similarities has disappeared entirely.

It is as much surprise as it is understanding that Kirk does not wish to explain this that stops him.

"I'm goin' fer a sandwich," Scott states. "If ya dinnae need me, tha' is."

Kirk grins at the slightly bewildered-looking engineer. "All right, Scotty." He turns to Spock, seeming to close off a bit, and says, "Spock, you've got the bridge while I'm gone."

Spock nods, still fairly intrigued by these strange sequences of events.

A fairly bright, relieved smile crosses Kirk's face. Unlike his previous grins, this is a completely authentic expression, open and utterly trusting.

Spock isn't sure how to respond to it, and silence falls.

It is broken by a grumble from Dr. McCoy; something about "green-blooded hobgoblins." Spock responds in his normal fashion, raising an eyebrow and tilting his chin a few millimeters downwards as if to say that he is skeptical of the insulting tone of the words.

He notes the observant gaze of the psychologist in the room and wonders for a moment what she sees.

"Well," Kirk says, "I guess I'll head down to the transporter room. I've already had the others report there; can't keep 'em waiting." He jumps down from the table just beside Spock and stops, meeting Spock's eyes for an instant before he leaves.

Spock stays in his seat for 23.4 seconds before standing himself and giving the two doctors a cursory glance as he turns to go.

"Wait," growls McCoy. "Get your ass down to that room and haul that idiot back here."

"Leonard, you know he can't." Defevo stands, scrutinizing Spock as she passes a hand gently over McCoy's shoulders. "Once Jim starts on something, nobody can stop him. You know that."

"Cain't blame me for tryin', Anna. Especially given – "

Anna hushes him. "Don't bring that up."

"If you are referring to my…indiscretion…with the captain, Doctor, I fail to see its relevance to this current situation." Spock allows a note of warning to slip into his voice; this is not something he wishes to discuss with the doctor. He assumes that Kirk must have brought it up before, and sighs internally. "I am returning to the bridge."

As he leaves, he wonders again why the two doctors are so dead-set against the captain beaming down to Tarsus IV. Kirk has seen various kinds of carnage far more recent than that site and come away emotionally unscathed.

Making a turn to one of the computer consoles that dot the hallway, he requests information on Tarsus IV.

He reads about Kodos' insanity and how the majority of the settlement's population was wiped out. Then he comes upon the list of survivors and finds that only nine people ever saw Kodos and survived to speak of their ordeal.

Among them is the captain's name, listed as 'Kirk, James Tiberius.'

Spock stands there for a moment, completely stunned. A dozen years have passed since the massacre, meaning that Kirk had been in the age-range of thirteen to fifteen when it all occurred.

Far too young to be an eyewitness to such things.

Clenching his hands, he closes the window and changes course for the transporter room. It is not far, and Spock's rigid strides are long enough to significantly lessen the time until his arrival.

As he steps into the room, he's greeted by the very last fizzling of golden sparks that whisk away the intended landing party, Kirk among them. He stops dead in his tracks and then crisply turns toward Mr. Scott. "Inform Lt. Sulu that he has the conn. I am beaming down to the planet."

[end Chapter Seven]

Word Count: 1,645

Author's Note: I decided to split this into two chapters. All the good stuff's in the next bit, at least in terms of relationship angstitude.

Thanks to MirrorFlower and DarkWind, the only reviewer for this chapter! Now you know where they're going, and yes, there will be drama. LOTS OF DRAMA.

On a random aside: Is anybody else watching Invader Zim this month? One of the TV networks is running the reruns for this month only, but I've heard that if enough people watch, they'll bring back the show in its entirety.


	8. Shmoopy Angst is Herein

Chapter Eight: Shmoopy Angst is Herein.

Scotty raises his eyebrows. "The cap'n said tha' I wasn' to beam anyone else doon."

"It is entirely likely that the doctors with whom we were conversing will attempt to cause yourself and I great discomfort. If the captain's accounts of such wrath are even halfway accurate, it would be prudent to acquiesce to their wishes,"

He walks up onto the transporter pad as he hears the chief engineer let out a half-hearted "Aye, Mr. Spock."

He rematerializes amid ruins of a well-constructed settlement. Looking around, he finds Kirk staring at him as if the young captain has just seen a ghost.

Shaking his head, the blonde gestures at him to come closer. The rest of the landing party has dispersed to do their jobs, leaving Kirk alone amidst buildings he may have seen burn down. Spock is suddenly, irrationally displeased with the away team, before he reminds himself that they do not know. They are simply doing there jobs, and there is no inherent malice in that.

"It was unwise to disregard the advice of Dr. McCoy and Dr. Defevo, given that they appear to be care for you deeply."

Kirk starts in surprise as Spock quickly crosses the flat, arid land between them, but he replies fairly steadily. "They put you up to it, didn't they?"

"No. I discovered, through the ship's records, that you were an eyewitness to…" Spock trails off, unfortunately at a loss for words. He does not know how to phrase the horror without seeming blunt or outright uncaring.

"Hell on Earth, Spock?" the young captain offers bitterly, turning to survey the land around them.

Spock does not bother to point out the inaccuracy of the metaphor; this is not the time for that. Instead, he places a tentative hand on Kirk's shoulder, uncertain as to what he should do next.

Kirk is shivering, and his pain bubbles up through two layers of cloth to burn at the sensitive skin of Spock's fingertips. He does not retract his touch, though, because he knows that Kirk is a tactile being, even more so than many other humans Spock has met, and he wants the young captain to know that it does not bother him to offer touch as comfort, should that prove necessary.

"Why'd you come down here?" Kirk asks, voice shaking somewhat. Spock believes it is this place that is cutting through every wall between them, opening Kirk up like picked scab over a head wound.

And Spock's touch telepathy is making them both bleed.

Spock sighs a little, the exhalation warming the air between them. "I thought it necessary to be present. Your reactions to the mission itself and to your friends' requests that you remain aboard are atypical of yourself and are cause for moderate concern."

"And 'moderate concern' means you're willing to defy orders?" Kirk turns toward him, searching his face. "That's not like you, Spock."

Spock exhales softly. "Your behavior was unsettling."

"Sorry. Didn't mean for you to even notice that I'm even more fucked up than you thought I was." Kirk shrugs away from Spock's hand, "Don't…get unsettled…over me, Spock. I'll be fine."

"But you are not currently 'fine.' It appears that this location is the cause, and I submit that we should return to the Enterprise." Spock himself is surprised by the urgency that fills him and almost bleeds over into his voice. It occurs to him that it is possible that he simply can't stand seeing Kirk hurt like this. No, it is not simply possible, it is in existence and truth just as Kirk is here before him.

It strikes him hard, resonating in the darkest, most human places of his katra.

"No."

"Why?" Now the urgency sharpens his voice and makes him wrap a hand around Kirk's upper arm. He has never sought out physical contact like this, and he has never been the one to offer said contact as comfort.

James T. Kirk, it seems, is capable of changing people.

"I know it's over. I'm not going to let a…a fucking memory run me off of Tarsus." Kirk's hand reaches up and touches Spock's tentatively, as though he can't quite believe that he is there. His pain flares; Spock can feel it, and the vague sense of disbelief, as it worms its way up his arm fromwhere their hands touch.

Kirk breathes a little and whispers, "It's over."

"Yes," Spock agrees, feeling a small stab of fear coming from the blonde. He squeezes Kirk's shoulder awkwardly, not sure what he can possibly do to help him.

Kirk lets out a short bark of a bitter laugh, and Spock remembers that the thin mind link they've created here works both ways. Kirk can sense the things that he is feeling, too. "Spock...you help more than you know. Just being here, you help remind me that it's over."

Spock doesn't understand, and he asks, "Why is it necessary?"

"This place...it's like seeing ghosts, Spock. Everywhere, all around me, I can almost see the way things used to be." Kirk's voice is unsteady, and the fear is cresting in him. "But you're no ghost."

"Correct, Captain." Spock decides to take something of a risk and kisses him, gently.

When he pulls back, Kirk sighs softly and draws away. Spock lets him go, bowing his head and wondering if, perhaps, he should not have done this. Kirk is in pain, and it seems that this sort of contact frightens him, and Spock finds himself regretting what he has done.

"Spock," the captain mumbles, sounding heartbreakingly vulnerable. Spock snaps his gaze back up to search Kirk's face. "Spock, you don't know..."

"What is it?"

Kirk shakes his head. "I can't. It wouldn't make it better. Worse, yeah. A hell of a lot worse."

Spock is growing confused. He notes, something clenching where his heart lies, that there are tears shining in Kirk's eyes, eyes the color of Terra's summer skies. A thin wind passes by them, shifting some of the frontmost locks of the captain's hair.

The look on Kirk's face is pure, abject misery. It causes compassion and something deeper to tear at Spock's practiced control. a longing settles in the small of Spock's back and a catch builds in his throat; he cannot speak, and the longing at the base of his spine confuses him even more. This place is as Kirk described: Hell. But it is quiet hell, hell that creeps across the barren planet and yanks at the bonds of sanity slowly and persistently.

That is what the face he looks upon tells him, what the waves of pain are screaming as they radiate from Kirk. Kirk cannot remain here, especially not now.

Not after what Spock has done.

Clenching his hands into fists, he takes a step back and turn around, pulling out his communicator.

"Don't even think about it, Spock," the captain says, fatigue weakening the power of the command. But Spock still finds himself unable to disobey, and the communicator is returned to its holster. He turns back to Kirk, ready to speak, to voice some sort of objection.

"I have caused you pain." Of all the things he could have said, and this is the sentence that falls from his lips?

Kirk's eyes widen and his lips part slightly; it is clear that this is not what he expected to hear. Perhaps he previously was unaware that Spock has noticed.

The thought of that makes Spock feel ashamed. He hates the very possibility that he has been insufficient in any way; no matter the situation, he has always hated his shortcomings, and this moment...

He has spent his whole life trying to live up to Vulcan standards, and, in this moment, he hates himself for it.

It is irrational, but James T. Kirk has always been adept at drawing back the the curtains of logic and reason for him. Kirk shows him the truth of emotion, and proves again and again that he is not made of stone, but that he is as fallible as any other being. That is something that can be easy to forget among humans.

Kirk looks at him as though he suddenly one of the ghosts Kirk fears so deeply. "Spock, it isn't your fault."

"Despite your repeated assurances of that, I find it difficult to believe, Captain." He doesn't mean for the title to come out as ascerbic or angry, but it does, and Kirk flinches, sending another slash of guilt through Spock's core.

"Damnit, Spock. What the hell are we doing?"

Trying to lighten the pitch-dark mood, Spock says, falling into his most Vulcan, I-don't-understand-your-silly-human-idioms-and-such voice, "I believe we are discussing my personal issues as they relate to my interpersonal relationships, specifically the one with you and your own issues."

Another bitter laugh, almost a dry sob, yanks itself out of Kirk. "Thanks," he mumbles.

"I do not understand, sir."

"That's okay, Spock. It's okay. I'll be okay. You..." Kirk pauses, gestures a little with his hands. "I think you make me okay."

The quiet, hesitant declaration leaves Spock speechless. Kirk has let the bravado, the independent self-assuredness, fall away completely, and those implications...

Spock realizes that he is being trusted with something infinitely precious, this knowledge that Jim Kirk is not simply his womanizing, cocky reputation. Pain hides in his past, pain that Spock suddenly is uncertain he could ever fathom. Logicall, he does that which seems necessary: he steps a little closer, tentatively invading the captain's veil of personal space.

Kirk takes a breath, a little sigh of something like relief escaping into the air between them. "You don't mind?"

Spock shakes his head. It is no burden to be this close.

Tension drains all at once from Kirk's frame, as though the ghosts of Tarsus IV are fading from the front of his mind. The young captain asks, softly, "How old were you that year?"

"Sixteen," Spock replies automatically.

"So you've got two years on me, then." Kirk smiles. "Didn't know that."

Then, he pulls Spock into a slightly awkward hug and murnurs, "I'll tell you about it, someday. You'll understand better than Bones 'n' Anna can, I think. What it's like to lose the place you call home."

"I have...experience...there," Spock replies, not moving to extricate himself from Kirk's hold.

Kirk laughs, long and low, the sound vibrating against Spock's chest. It's not bitter, like the two before it, but real and soft and comfortable, like the laughter Kirk normally bestows on those around him.

It unlocks the confusion and pain that had been caught around Spock's psyche and replaces it with...with affection. Warmth.

It is like nothing he has previously experienced, even with Nyota or his mother, and he finds he does not mind it. On the contrary, it is inordinately pleasant, and he enjoys the sensation as it passes through him with Kirk's laughter.

Kirk pulls away reluctantly and says, light back in his blue eyes, "Now get your ass back on my ship. And tell Scotty I'm not gonna kill him, okay?"

Spock nods and obeys, the warmth still buzzing inside him.

[end Chapter Eight]

Word Count: 1,889  
Author's Note: HOLY CRAP. Please excuse my language. I'm just so jazzed to find out you guys have given me 24 reviews! I was off the face of the 'Net for a few days, and I came back to see that my darling Chapter Seven had netted me seven reviews. I love you all so hard. Gyahh, I'm so busy, because my entry for Ship Wars Prompt 5 is due by midnight my time tonight, and I have 3000 words left to write, and then Panda has to beta it, and then I really should show Ariadne (I'm collaborating with her on it) before I post it and submit it as my entry. *flail* Once again, I love you all! Oh, and BTW, what does everyone think of my take on Tarsus IV? I was this close to having a mind meld, but I think it's too early for that just yet.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**: Love's Lookin' Good on You

Jim can't shake the feeling that something's changed between him and Spock, and changed for the better.

Spock had been beautiful on the ugliness of the barren plains of Tarsus, beautiful enough to hold back the demons of Jim's memories. With Spock there, the memories had just lurked around the edges, because, somehow, they couldn't get past Spock.

Jim sighs softly in the captain's chair, waiting for the other survey team to beam back from the planet.

His personal communicator buzzes. Looking at it, he finds he has a memo from Spock:

_To: Captain Kirk_

_From: Commander Spock_

_Request._

_Captain,_

_I request your presence in Rec Room Five for a game of chess following the end of alpha shift._

–_Spock_

He can't hold back the excited smile that spreads across his face, stretching the skin and muscle so much it hurts. Of course, he doesn't care.

He dashes off his reply:

_To: Spock_

_From: Jim_

_Re: Chess_

_I'll be there with bells on. Figuratively. Look it up._

_And call me Jim._

–_Jim_

He can't stop smiling throughout the rest of shift, feeling almost giddy with excitement. When Chekov asks a question, something about Klingon space, he has to force himself to sober up, because 'gleeful' is not an expression one uses when discussing Klingons. It just isn't.

However, once that conversation is over, the grin worms its way back onto his mouth. He decides to look over and see if Spock is hiding the Vulcan equivalent of a smile.

He is.

That just makes Jim even more pleased, his own smile widening to jaw-straining proportions once again.

Once he's finally able to announce the end of shift, it takes all of his self-control to not run off of the bridge. Instead, he moves at a fairly normal pace, trying to look casual.

Uhura takes one look at his smile and gives him a glare that, if looks could kill, he'd be disintegrating.

He mouths 'Sorry' at her.

He really is sorry about all of this, because he never thought for even a second that Spock would take the initiative, or even respond to his flirting, much less almost have sex with him. Besides, it isn't his fault Spock did, right?

She raises her eyebrows and leaves the bridge, a little faster on her feet than she had been.

Shrugging off the whole thing, Jim heads for Rec Room Five. Butterflies are flittering around in his stomach, and he finds his palms are sweating. He looks around and sees Spock is already out of sight. He takes a deep breath and wishes that the uniforms had pockets he could shove his twitching hands into.

He reaches the rec room, managing to control his nerves. After all, it's not like this is a date or anything.

Just a game of chess.

Admittedly, a game of chess between two people who almost had sex and managed to wreck a healthy, standing relationship, but still, it's just a game of chess.

Spock is sitting in the corner, three-tiered chessboard already set up, pieces in their starting positions. His legs are crossed, and, holy Hell, they practically go on forever. Jim groans internally; the last thing he needs is to screw up his first game of chess with Spock just because he happens to look really, really good with his legs crossed.

He sits down across from Spock, smiling. "Hey."

Spock quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head. "Where are the bells?" he asks wryly.

Jim laughs. "Spock, I told you to look that up."

The mock-innocent, mischievous expression on Spock's face, hidden under the usual layer of calm, makes Jim smile. This is one of his favorite things about Spock; he can convey more with just his eyes than most people can with their whole bodies.

…Damn, this is not a good line of thought to be having with Spock right here. Jim crosses his legs as casually as he can, keeping eye contact with his first officer, who has set the pieces so Jim has the first move.

Jim picks a piece at random and moves it, having no real strategy as of yet.

Spock seems to think otherwise, though, because a look of pure concentration settles on his face. He sits like that for a good fifteen seconds before he makes his move, a move Jim notices is leading into an extensive, high-turn gambit that, if left unnoticed for too long, becomes completely unbeatable.

Jim can't help the thrill of excitement that runs through him; Spock doesn't just play chess, he plays chess like a master, and Jim hasn't played someone like that in years.

He sits and thinks for a few moments, studying his possible blocks for the gambit. He decides to play it subtly, making a move that _could_ start the counter-gambit, or it could just be another move, depending on if Spock notices it or not.

Spock doesn't seem to, just playing the textbook next move in his strategy.

If Spock keeps doing that, Jim will have him cornered in thirty or so turns. It's normally not like people to play like this; normally, the gambit is played in conjunction with other, more distracting moves.

Carefully, Jim makes another random move, one that puts a rook in danger. It'll make a good diversion as his bishops scuttle closer to Spock's king.

The game lasts a total of one-hundred-and-twenty-three moves and ends in a stalemate, much to Spock's surprise.

"Fascinating," he murmurs.

"Didn't think I was that good, huh?" Jim grins, picking the pieces up off of the board. "Nobody does until they play me."

"You are a master." The statement, calm and utterly certain, catches Jim completely off his guard. He's never been called a master before; he just plays for the fun of it, and, back in high school, the field trips had been the reason he'd gotten good enough to join the chess team and actually compete. Coming from Spock, the compliment makes him feel like he's some sort of god of the chessboard or something.

He tries to come up with a good response, but he feels as if his brain has been completely shot to Hell by Spock's compliment, so he just sort of sits there, not quite gaping at the Vulcan hybrid.

A small smile, practically invisible, ghosts up the corners of Spock's mouth and brightens his eyes, making him almost radiant to Jim, taking his breath away. He slides out of his chair, straightening up to his full, considerable height as Jim stays seated, still stunned. He says, "I should like to face you again in the near future. Your strategy, or perhaps lack thereof, is intriguing and brooks further observation."

Jim finally smiles, the expression once again making him feel like he's going to tear the sides of his mouth. He winks, not really thinking about what he was saying, "You know, if you want my company that much, all you have to do is ask…"

A tiny change passes over Spock's face for an instant, a flash of uncertainty that makes Jim want to backpedal.

"I shall keep that in mind, Captain." He pauses and looks over at the clock. Raising an eyebrow, he says, "Perhaps you would accompany to the officers' mess hall? It is past time for dinner."

"S-sure." Jim can't help but wonder if maybe Spock is asking him 'out,' but he tries to squash the thought. He stands up, bringing himself well within Spock's personal space, and breathes as easily as he can with him that close. Which isn't too easily, actually, but he hopes Spock won't notice. "Now? Or is there anything you have to do first?"

"Anything that may be awaiting my attention can wait another hour or so, Captain."

"Jim. Call me Jim; we're not on duty, and all of my friends…" He trails off a little, because he's not sure what category Spock falls into anymore. He wonders, for a moment, if Spock fits into any category, or if he ever did at all.

Spock inclines his head gracefully. "Jim. I should be honored to be counted amongst those with who you are on a first-name basis."

Jim almost sags in relief, smiling. "Great!"

"Now, shall we?" Spock tilts his head slightly in the direction of the door.

Jim nods, and they depart for the officers' mess.

When they get there, it's completely vacant, which makes Jim just a little nervous. At least there had been a few people in the rec room, which usually helps Jim when he's nervous; he's great around people, if a little reckless, but being alone with Spock scares him a little, given all of this…stuff…between them.

Spock seems to notice, cocking an eyebrow at him. He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted when Chekov skids into the room.

"Keptin! Meester Spohk! Zere are Kleengons off ze starboard bow!"

[end Chapter Nine]

**Word Count**: 1,492 *hums Columbus song*

**Author's Note**: It seems everyone enjoyed Tarsus, which is awesome! This chapter is considerably lighter, fluffier fare. Don't worry, though; there will be cracky, dramatic stuff in Chapter Ten.

And I'm sorry this chapter's a little late; the Ship Wars on LJ have eaten my soul. The battle post went up on Wednesday, and the theme is AU, so I've been doing so many little ficlets and round-robins for that. Who knew I could write a LotR!Trek AU, a Western!Trek AU, a ChippendalesDancers!Trek AU, an Adroid!Kirk AU, a _Zombie!Kirk_ AU, a KnightsTemplar!Spork AU, and an AU based on All Quiet on the Western Front involving Kirk and Spock in a shellhole.

If anyone here doesn't know what Ship Wars is, here's a little explanation: It's a little competition between thirteen different ships (K/S, K/Mc, S/Mc, Mc/S/K, S/U, Mc/Chapel, Mc/Chekov, Mc/U, Scotty/Chekov, Sulu/Chekov, Pike/Number One, Pike/Kirk, and Crackship, who ships everything), where a prompt is put forth, each team puts forth an entry, members of the ships vote, and a themed "battle post" is put up. In the battle post, the teams write ficlets, post art, and show off pretty macros based around the theme. It's also a place where gift!fic is given to other teams. For example, I'm a member of Team Spork, but I gifted a fic to Team Pirk based off of an awesome macro they did. I love it to pieces. We're currently in Prompt Five, which was "Fairy Tales." There's going to be a shore leave after this round, and there'll probably be more recruiting done (I got recruited during the last recruitment drive, between prompts Three and Four) then, so I recommend that everybody with an LJ (or a willingness to make an LJ) go and look over the comm. the Ship War itself is being held at, st_respect. You'll be surprised to note that Chulu and Crackship are basically tied for first place, which means that they are totally awesome. I also recommend Team Pirk, because, despite its tiny size (there's five of 'em now, and they started off with three) they hold so much awesome it's scary, and Bruce Greenwood is REALLY FUCKING HOT.

*looks up at author's note* Whoo, that was long…Sorry about all of the ramblings!


End file.
